Operation: Jungle
by dying english
Summary: Joined by Gerald, Phoebe and Helga, Arnold and his friends set out from Hillwood to begin their search. After being attacked by FTI assassins they are rescued by a man claiming to be Arnold's half brother. M for violence and language. Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1: A Dark Meeting

Chapter one: A Dark Meeting

The informant shivered in the cold night air as he walked briskly down the street. The street was abandoned this time of night which worried him. He hated meeting these people under these conditions, always dark secluded areas away from public eye, in the middle of the night when he'd rather be home asleep and worst of all, the unshakeable feeling of being watched. He stopped on the corner he had been told too and waited. A slow moment passed when finally his cell phone went off. He answered it hastily, nearly dropping it as he pulled it out of his pocket. It was a short simple text.

**Go North.**

The informant looked around the surrounding rooftops and behind him. No signs of life anywhere save for the odd stray dog. He really hated this. He continued up the street heading north as the text said. About ten minutes later, his phone rang again. This time the text read:

**Alley between Smith and Wesson.**

The informant nodded o himself and walked down the street until he came upon the alley. It was dark, so dark that the minute he stepped into the alley, he disappeared.

"H-hello?" he called into the darkness.

"Were you followed?" a soft voice asked.

"W-who's-"

A light clicked on over head, dimly illuminating the dark alley in a harsh yellow light. Standing in front of the informant was a tall man. He was wearing a trench coat that was buttoned all the way to the collar, along with a black hat that casted a dark shadow over his face, completely hiding it from view. In the middle of the area that should have been his face was a single red dot from his cigarette. He took a drag, briefly illuminating his eyes. Cold and unfeeling. The eyes of an assassin.

"Where you followed?" he asked again.

"N-no." The informant said.

The assassin held his hand forward and motioned with his fingers. The informant had dealt with these guys long enough to know it wasn't a request, it was a demand. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small manila envelope. He handed it quickly to the assassin, who took it and opened it with the tip of a switchblade. He reached inside and took out the contents, a photograph and a sheet of paper with an address. He memorized the face and name, took out a lighter and burned them both.

"Uh, anyway…." the informant began. He hated bringing up the subject up. "My pay?"

The assassin dropped the smoldering paper on the ground and slowly reached into his pocket. The informants blood ran cold, his hand twitched slightly on his left hand side, a few inches from the gun in his waistband. The assassin removed his hand from his pocket and dropped a roll of money on the ground next to the photo. The informant dropped down and scrambled to collect the money. When he stood back up, the assassin was gone. The light bulb above the alley flickered as the wind picked up. The photo was almost completely burned out by now; all that remained was a piece of face and a name: Arnold Shortman. The informant almost felt surge of pity in his stomach. He shrugged and walked out of the alley eager to get home.

_Sucks to be you, kid._ He thought.


	2. Chapter 2: Graduation Day

Chapter 2: Graduation Day.

Arnold nervously adjusted his graduation cap. It was slightly uneven due to the fact his small blue cap was underneath it. He didn't care; today he would need the cap more than ever. He grabbed his index cards with his speech written on them and stepped out of the locker room. The hallway was almost abandoned; everybody was in the gymnasium of P.S. 118. True, he was graduating high school, but as valedictorian, he got to help pick the place the graduation ceremony was to be held. He chose his old elementary school because it was scheduled for demolition in another week. He sighed as he walked down the hallway, everything seemed so much smaller. The lockers barely came up to his shoulders and if he wanted to drink from the water fountain, he had to practically kneel down to reach the thing. He passed Mr. Simmons old classroom, ironically the classroom they had first discovered the asbestos in.

Arnold continued down the hall until he came to the gymnasium. Inside, the shop class of P.S 120 had worked hard to restore the gym to its former glory. The flooring had been redone and buffed to a mirror-like shine, letting off a strangely satisfying _squeaking_ sound when stepped on. The bleachers had been removed and replaced with about two hundred folding chairs on either side; one for the graduating class and one for their families. A small stage had been built in the middle of the gym with a podium set up on it. A banner reading **"CONGRADUALTIONS CLASS OF '09" **had been hung above the stage. As Arnold pushed the heavy double doors open, the left side of the gym roared in applause. Gerald, Arnold's best friend since childhood, gave him a thumbs up. Lila, his childhood crush, smiled and waved to him eagerly. Helga, the one who tormented him ever since meeting him in preschool, simply rolled her eyes and made a face as though she had sucked on a lemon. She had significantly… grown since grade school, her eyebrows had thinned and she had grown from a mean nasty child to a mean nasty young woman. He looked over at the side that seated the parents and smiled at his grandmother, she was getting on up there in age and it had finally caught up with her, condemning her to a wheel chair. All the members of the border house had shown up for the occasion. Mr. Hyunh, Ernie Potts, Oscar and Suzie Kokoshka and their recently born baby girl Annette, had seated next to Gerald's family. His grandmother beamed at him with the same life that she had shown so many years ago. Arnold smiled back and felt a sudden pang of pity as he realized Helga's parents were nowhere to be seen. He continued up to the stage where the retired Principal Wartz and high school principal Mr. Simmons were waiting for him. He shook both of their hands in turn and stepped behind the podium.

He tapped his finger on the mike to test it and took a deep breath.

"Wow…" he said thoughtfully. "Just… wow. We're finally here."

The class of '09 roared in applause. Mr. Wartz shot them a look that came from years of experience as a elementary school principal, quieting them instantly.

"We're here today not to celebrate the end of an era but rather the start of a new beginning. As of today we are no longer the children we once were, but the new generation of adults for our country." He smiled and looked at his friend Sid who had made a loud snoring sound. "Well most of us anyway."

There were scattered applause and laughs as Arnold continued. "We've come a long way since 5th grade; we've celebrated each other victories and mourned each others losses. We've gone exploring in haunted caves on Elk Island, danced like idiots while dressed as food, caused panic amongst the neighborhood as part of a Halloween prank, saved the neighborhood from total destruction. Just to name a few."

A quiet wave of nostalgia had crept over the audience, each remembering their own fair share of adventures in their neighborhood.

"I've shared the best moments of my life with all of you. All of you are my family in one way or another. I will cherish the memories I have made with all of you and wish you luck out there in the real world."

Everybody cheered as Arnold shook the hands of his old teachers and joined his friends on their side of the gymnasium. Mr. Simmons stepped up to the podium and began calling out the names of the graduates. An hour or so later, they were all posing in front a camera smiling for a final class photo.

"Say Cheese!" Mr. Simmons said.

The kids humored him one last time and yelled "Cheese" in unison one last time as a class. He smiled proudly and took the picture. They spent the next hour talking, feasting on snacks bidding each other farewell since most of them were going to colleges out of state. Arnold said his final goodbyes and met his grandmother outside. He hugged her and smelled the old person scent that often hung around her like an exotic perfume.

"Phil would be so proud of you Arnold, I know I am." She said.

"Thanks grandma." Arnold said.

They climbed into his grandfather's old Packer and headed home, unaware of the dark figure watching them across the street.


	3. Chapter 3: Heist

Chapter 3: Heist or the champion of the sewer.

Meanwhile, while Arnold was giving his farewell speech, a young man had just knocked out a security guard and stolen his pass key. He swiped it through the reader and pushed open the heavy steel door. He was pretty underdressed for a spy, simply wearing a pair of dark green cargo pants, a black t-shirt and a pair of black rubber soled shoes. The most advanced thing he wore was a Kevlar vest with several pockets containing various tools of the trade. He closed the door behind him and stepped into the abandoned conference room. A few coffee mugs, a briefcase and some paper cluttered the conference table. If you didn't know what you were looking for, it would have looked like a normal, boring conference room. But the agent knew what he was looking for. He walked briskly across the room and over to the tall glass windows. Outside, the city was alive with lights like stars. The view was breathtaking, perfectly catching the nightlife of New York. The agent looked around the room then settled on a large swivel chair. He grabbed it and hurled it through the window, shattering it marvelously. The image of a dark night sky disappeared and was replaced by a stark white laboratory. The man stepped through the shattered hole and into the secret lab. He removed a camera from his pocket and began taking pictures. There were caged animals with bizarre physical mutations, several Petri dishes containing samples, and many other incriminating things. He took as many pictures as he could and went back into the faux conference room.

"I think he went this way!" A voice in the hall outside yelled.

The man cursed and ran over to the wall next to the door as it opened. Two security guards stormed into the room armed with handguns. The man slowly pushed the door closed.

"What the-"

Like a bolt of lightning, the man dashed forward and broke the wrist of the first guard; he then jerked the hand holding the pistol in the direction of the other guard and squeezed the trigger twice. The guard crumpled to the ground before he could get a shot off. The man sighed and dropped the unconscious guard and relieved them of their pistols and ammo. He needed to quit smoking, he was getting slow. An effective agent would have done that without being seen. He ducked out of the room and walked quickly down the hallway. He stepped inside an elevator that would take him back to the surface and out of the secret testing facility. As it began its long ascent his com-link chirped.

"I'm here… "

His superior informed him of his next assignment. The agent's eyebrows rose in minor surprise.

"Really? Okay."

The doors opened and he stepped out into the dark sewer tunnel. A rat scurried by followed by almost a dozen more.

"Did you find what you seek?" A voice in the darkness asked.

The man quickly drew a pistol, activated a UV flashlight on his wrist and shinned it down the tunnel. He saw a shape shift in the shadows away from the lights narrow beam. He sighed in relief and stuck the pistol back into his waistband.

"Yeah. Thanks S.K."

"And our deal?"

"Oh. Right." The man reached into the pocket of his dark green cargo pants and pulled out a small cigarette lighter.

"Enjoy." he said tossing the lighter to the sewer king.

"Ahhh! A fire starter!" the sewer king exclaimed. "Now me and my children will never worry about going cold in our dark kingdom." He declared as the rats pooled around his feet.

"Uh… yeah. Enjoy. I'm gonna go now. You stay here… away from me." The man said.

"But where will you go great champion of the sewer?" the sewer king asked.

The man checked his PDA. It lit up as feed from a satellite showed a football headed kid helping an old woman into a beat up car that looked like it came straight from the depression.

"My next job." He said.


	4. Chapter 4: Shootout at hillwood cemetery

Chapter 4: Farewell or Shoot out at Hillwood cemetery

A week had passed since Arnold's graduation. He had waited long enough, it was now or never. He stuffed another t-shirt into his back pack along with a white envelope that contained his life savings, a grand total of a little over five thousand dollars. It was all he had but he'd have to work with it. After the envelope, he carefully inserted a terribly weather beaten journal with the initials M.P.S stamped on the brown leather cover. The journal had belonged to his father and it was the only clue he had as to where his parents could be. He zipped the bag up and slung it over his back. He then folded a piece of paper in half and slid it into an envelope with "Grandma" written on it. He set the envelope on his pillow and left of his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He carefully crept down the stairs, taking his time to avoid the creakier steps. When he finally made it down stairs and into the parlor, he realized he'd been holding his breath since he had stepped out his bedroom door. He let it out with a quiet whoosh and crossed the room towards the front door.

"Finally leaving?" a voice in the darkness asked.

His grandma's voice. Arnold's heart sank into his foot.

The light next to the couch clicked on and Arnold saw his grandma sitting on her husband's old chair. Gerald, Phoebe, and to Arnold's amazement, Helga all sat on the couch across from her.

"Wh- what are you guy's- Why are you…"

"I called them Arnold." Grandma said smiling at him.

"C'mon Arnold." Gerald said. "We've known each other literally all of our life. Did you think we didn't know what you were planning?"

Arnold knew where this was going and didn't like it.

"You guys aren't coming with me." he said.

"Arnold, we've been friends ever since we could walk." Phoebe said. "Don't act like you haven't thought of asking us to come with you."

Arnold bit his tongue. It was true, he had wanted to ask Gerald and whoever else wanted to too come with him on his journey but he just couldn't. Not when they had their own lives before them.

"This doesn't concern you guy's. This is my problem not yours. I couldn't ask you guys to risk your lives on a wild goose chase."

"Arnold, if you really don't think there is any hope, the why go?" Gerald asked.

"Because I have to."

"That's exactly why we're coming with you." Gerald said.

"But-

"Oh shut up football head!" Helga snapped. She jumped out of her seat and grabbed Arnold by the collar of his shirt. "Listen, this can go down one of two ways. Either you're going to let us come with you or we're gonna chain you to your bed for the rest of your life!"

_Wow she's strong…_ Arnold thought.

He looked over at his grandma who simply smiled at him, as though she knew something that Arnold was missing and it was the most obvious thing on the planet. Arnold sighed.

"Fine." he muttered. "I'm sorry."

Helga dropped him back down to his feet and walked back to the couch.

"Grandma, are you sure your okay with me leaving?" Arnold asked.

"Arnold, ever since you came to live with us I knew you were special, destined for great things. I won't try to stop you, you have too much of your father in you for that." she smiled. "And your grandfather. Just be careful."

Arnold smiled back. "I will. Thanks."

"Are we going or not?!" Helga asked impatiently.

Arnold sighed and adjusted his backpack.

"Yeah but you guys still have to-

He turned to look at them and they all pulled out their own individual traveling bag. Gerald's was a brown burlap not unlike the one Arnold had around his shoulder. Phoebe's was a bright blue with oriental flowers printed on it and Helga's was a pink denim messenger's bag with several buttons from hot topic on the strap and flap.

"Oh… okay then. Let's go."

They all filed out the front door and onto the street. It was early in the morning but the sun still hadn't risen over the city. Gerald's tan car was waiting for them outside. They got in with Gerald driving and Arnold riding shotgun. Gerald put his key in the ignition and turned it, bringing the car to life. He smiled as the engine he and Sid restored two years ago purred like a lion.

"Hey Gerald? Can we stop somewhere?" Arnold asked.

"Where?"

Arnold took one final look at the boarding house that had been his home for so many years.

"The cemetery."

The assassin across the street watched from the shadows as the car drove away from the boarding house. He touched a small head set in his ear.

"He's on the move."

The sun had just started to rise over the city of Hillwood as Gerald's car pulled into the Hillwood cemetery. A faint fog had set over the graveyard, making the grim place even more unappealing. They parked the car across the street from the front gate and they all got out. They followed Arnold through the wet grassy path, saying nothing as they walked amongst the headstones.

_It's so depressing. _Phoebe thought. _All these old tombstones with no one to come and visit them. So old they have no family left in the area, they just lay here, forgotten by time…_

"So depressing…" Phoebe said quietly.

"You say something Pheebs?" Helga asked.

"Huh? Oh no!" Phoebe said embarrassed. "I was just thinking…"

Helga shrugged.

They continued walking. Gerald shivered in the chilly morning air and pulled his jacket tighter around him. He hated cemeteries; they just seemed so dark and gloomy, not happy at all. He'd rather be in a nice warm, brightly colored room with some good music playing. But he understood what Arnold wanted to do; they might be gone for awhile. It was understandable that Arnold wanted to visit his grandfather's grave one final time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Phoebe and Helga whisper something back and forth to each other. Phoebe had defiantly become hot over the years. She had gone from small and mousy to, well small and mousy but Gerald liked that. He'd take a quiet intelligent girl over a hot blonde with the intellect of a brick any day.

Helga sniffed. If she got sick she was going to beat that football headed kids face in. She cursed herself for wearing converse sneakers, which were soaked by now from walking in the dew drenched grass. She had the feeling going on this hunt for Arnold's parent's was a stupid idea but she couldn't stand the idea of being away from him for so long. She had already come clean with Phoebe about why she really wanted to go with him and Phoebe promised she wouldn't tell under the condition that she would eventually tell Arnold how she really felt.

"Or what?" Helga had asked angrily. "What are you going to do tell him?"

"No." Phoebe said simply. "It's not my place to. I just think it's sad. All the wasted years you spent not being together if it turns out he liked you too."

_Why does Phoebe have to be so deep all the time? _Helga thought bitterly.

"Wait." Arnold said suddenly. "Here it is."

They stopped in the very center of the cemetery in front of a relatively new grave stone. It was about three feet tall with "Steely" Phillip Shortman chiseled into it with the dates 1917-2008 underneath it.

"I guess you were right grandpa." Arnold said quietly as he kneeled down next to the grave. "91. You were right about so many other things…. I'm sorry I doubted you. I'm here to say good-bye. I might be gone for awhile. I'm going to find them, mom and dad. I have to. Don't worry, I won't be alone. Gerald, Phoebe and Helga are coming with me. I promise I'll be back and don't worry about Grandma; she has the other borders to help her. Bye grandpa…"

Gerald put his arm around Phoebe's shoulder, who was beginning to tear up. Helga actually sniffed but managed to play it off as allergies with a cough immediately afterwards. Arnold rose to his feet and turned to his friends.

"Let's go." He said quietly.

They nodded and started to leave when Arnold saw a figure approaching them from the mist. He was a young man, maybe a year or two older than Arnold. He was wearing simple dark denim jeans with a black t-shirt and a black jacket over it. Without warning, he reached into his jacket and drew a silenced handgun and pointed it at Arnold.

"Get down!" he yelled.

Helga jumped and shoved Arnold to the ground as Gerald pulled Phoebe behind a tall headstone shaped like an angel. The man fired his gun into the chest of a man who had been behind them. He was tall with a shaven head, wearing a black suit and sunglasses. The bullets hit him dead in the heart but did nothing, the Kevlar vest saw to that. He grinned and pulled his own gun out from his holster, a very big and very powerful looking revolver.

Before he could even get a shot off, the man drew a second pistol from his jacket and put two bullets into the gunman's face, shattering the assassin's glasses and sending him stumbling back onto a tombstone. The man holstered his handguns and turned to face Arnold and his frightened friends.

"Let's go." he said casually.

"What?" Arnold asked.

"Over here!" a voice called through the fog.

"Who the hell are they and who the hell are you?" Helga asked.

"More guys with guns, now COME ON!" the man said.

He grabbed Arnold by the hand and quickly led them through the cemetery and back to the main gate, where three more guys in suits waited for them by Gerald's car across the street, each of them wearing identical black suits and black glasses.

"Crap!" The man said.

He shoved Arnold out of the way and drew his handguns just as the men opened fire on them, using Gerald's car as cover.

"Might want to cover your ears guys." the guy warned as he pulled a small grenade from his pocket.

"NO WAIT!" Gerald cried.

Too late. The guy pulled the pin and tossed the grenade through the iron bars of the cemetery gate. It bounced and rolled under the car and exploded, sending Gerald's car flying into the air and over the cemetery gate. It landed in front of them, in a smoldering pile of wreckage; crushing several tombstones.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Gerald cried on the verge of crying.

"Let's go." the man said pulling Arnold back to his feet.

They took off running down the street and came to a red jeep.

"This'll work." the man said.

He smashed the driver's side window out and unlocked the door. The others just stood there.

"Do you guys have someone who looks after you? Get in the damn car!" The guy ordered.

They hesitantly obliged, too frightened to disobey. He pulled an amazingly slim dagger from one of his sleeves and jammed it into the ignition. The engine roared to life and they took off down the street at a breakneck speed.

"Who are you?" Arnold asked.

"My names Richard Cross. Those guys are assassins. Their chasing you because you're the only one who has evidence of Miles Shortman's location."

"My father?" Arnold asked eagerly.

"_Our _father." Richard corrected.

"What did you say?" Arnold asked.

Before Richard could say another word, two black cruisers with mirror tinted windows pulled up on either side of them. The windows rolled down and more men in suits opened fire on them.

"Take this." Richard said, handing Gerald, who had gotten in the front seat, a handgun.

"What do I do with it?" Gerald asked.

A bullet shattered through the passenger window, missing Gerald by a fraction but hitting Richard in the shoulder. Phoebe screamed from the back seat as Richard gritted his teeth in pain.

"Aim and shoot." he said slowly and condescendingly.

Gerald started to argue but was cut off as Richard swerved another corner. He reached into his pocket, withdrew another grenade and threw it out the window. He floored it as the cruisers came around the corner only to be caught in the grenades explosion radius.

"Should be the last of them." He said hopefully.

A moment later, three motor cycles pulled up, one behind them and one on either side.

"Of course." Richard said, sounding more annoyed than worried.

The driver of the motor cycle on Richard's side of the car swerved and stopped in front of the jeep. Richard went for another weapon but paused as the biker held up a hand.

"Follow me!" he said.

"Can we trust them?" Helga asked.

"If they wanted to kill us they'd have done it already." Richard said. "Besides, they're wearing HSS patches, so unless they've gone rogue they might actually help us."

"And if not?"

"Then we get shot at again."

"I don't like getting shot at!" Phoebe wailed from the back seat.

"I don't mind getting shot at." Richard said thoughtfully. "It's getting shot that sucks."

He nodded to the cyclist and followed them through the city until they came to a rundown, seedy looking bikers bar. They parked the car and followed the bikers inside, finding it abandoned.

"It's been a long time Richard." the leader said. "Watch the door." he said to the other two.

They nodded and left the six of them alone in the bar. After they left, the leader removed his helmet and let his long brown hair fall around his pale face. He was in fact a she.

"Bridget!" Richard exclaimed.

Bridget, the super spy of Hillwood and leader of the Hillwood Spy Society, the woman who had helped Arnold and Gerald save their neighborhood so many years ago smiled at them.

"Hello boys."


	5. Chapter 5: Old Friends

Chapter 5: Old friends

"Bridget!" Richard exclaimed. "I didn't know you still ran this motley crew!"

"Rick Cross, still as charming as ever I see." She said as they embraced.

She pulled away from him and the smile on her face fell. Blood had seeped from the wound on Rick's shoulder and stained the leather biker jacket Bridget wore.

"Rick! You've been shot!" She exclaimed.

"Oh… yeah. I forgot about that…"

Rick grimaced and leaned forward a little then fainted onto the floor of the bar. Bridget sighed and pulled Rick to his feet, his right arm slung over her shoulder.

"Arnold? Gerald? Be a dear and help me carry him to the backroom please?" She asked.

"Oh! Sure!" Arnold said.

They both got on the other side of Rick and helped Bridget carry him to the back room.

"Helga honey? Grab the med-kit from behind the counter and bring it to me please?"

Helga grumbled but obeyed. She wasn't overly fond of Bridget but it wasn't smart to pick a fight with a girl that could kill her with a napkin.

_Where does she get off calling me honey and Arnold "dear"?_ She thought.

She found the med-kit and brought it to Bridget who took it and pulled out a long pair of tweezers and a bottle of alcohol.

"Children exit the room please." Bridget ordered.

"But-

"OUT!" Bridget snapped.

She shoved the them all out the door and locked it behind her.

"There's some snacks in the fridge, help yourself." She called through the door.

Arnold and Gerald looked at each other, not sure what to do.

"I'm hungry." Gerald said.

Arnold sighed.

"I could eat." He said.

They crossed over to the bar. Arnold sat down as Gerald opened the fridge and started passing out bottles of Yahoo and some snacky cakes to everybody.

"Will he be okay?" Phoebe asked.

"He lost a lot of blood…" Gerald said as he popped the tab on his soda.

"I've never seen someone get shot before." Helga said.

"He'll be fine." Arnold said.

_He has to._ Arnold thought.

-Several hours later-

"He's stitched up." Bridget said stepping out of the backroom.

She removed a pair of blood stained latex gloves and walked behind the counter to get a drink of something stronger than soda.

"Is Rick a spy like you?" Phoebe asked.

"Pfft. A spy? Rick? God no." Bridget scoffed. "He lacks the finesse. He trained with me at the academy and we've done some missions together but deep down he's more of the kick-in-the-door-and-go-in-guns-blazing type."

She reached under the counter and took out a lever-action shotgun like the one out of _Terminator. _She took out a box of shells and began feeding them into the receiver.

"He was offered a job as an agent but he left after graduation. He had a bit of a problem taking orders so he became a freelancing mercenary. He enjoys the ability to pick and choose his own jobs."

_Click-clack!_

She cocked the lever and set the shotgun down on the counter.

"What brought the avid gunslinger into your life Arnold?" She asked.

Arnold went over their story, starting at the encounter at the cemetery and ending when they met in the street. Bridget scoffed.

"Sounds like Rick alright." She said.

"Honestly, I don't even know why I bother." She grumbled. "He's just so reckless! Half his wounds were unattended and at least a week old. Stabs, a gunshot wound in his gut as well as the one on his shoulder, _rat _bites on his legs and feet!"

She growled in frustration and sipped her drink.

"He said he was my brother…" Arnold said.

Bridget raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Really?"

"Is it true?" Arnold asked.

"I don't know. I met him years ago when I was still a rookie. I know he was an orphan and was raised by a mercenary but not much else."

She looked at her watch and sighed.

"Are you guys tired? There are some beds upstairs and Rick probably won't be up till morning. You guys should get some rest too."

"Yeah, that'd be great." Arnold said.

Bridget led them upstairs to a room with about half a dozen cots placed in it and tossed them all a blanket.

"Night guys, I'll keep an eye out tonight." She said.

She turned off the light and walked back downstairs.

"Wow." Gerald said as he lay down in cot. "I didn't expect looking for your parents to be so… intense."

"Really. We haven't even left the stupid city yet." Helga said.

They talked for another hour or so until they were tired and drifted off to sleep. Arnold lay awake and stared at the ceiling.

_I have a brother._ He thought.

-6:02 A.M.-

Arnold awoke the next morning to see the sun leaking in through the curtains. Helga and Phoebe's cot were empty but he could hear their voices downstairs. Gerald was still fast asleep in his cot next to Arnold. Arnold had just finished tying his shoes when Helga stuck her head in the door.

"Breakfast is ready football head." She barked.

She turned and trudged down the stairs. Arnold sighed and kicked Gerald's cot. He groaned and sat up, clearly not having enjoyed the sleeping arrangements.

"What time is it?" he croaked.

"Time to get up." Arnold replied.

Gerald grunted, pulled his shoes on and the two went downstairs where a table had been set. They sat down and Phoebe sat a plate containing a microwaveable breakfast sandwich in front of them.

"Go ahead and eat, Rick should be up soon."

"Rick is up soon." A groggy voice said behind them.

Rick stood in the doorway of the backroom and yawned. He was shirtless, revealing several bandages on his chest, arms, fingers, and cheek.

"Morning John Wayne." Bridget said.

"Thought I smelled preservatives." He said eyeing a breakfast sandwich.

"Want one?" Phoebe asked.

"No thanks. All purpose meat and artificial eggs doesn't sound to appealing at this ungodly hour."

He walked behind the bar and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"This is what I need." He said leaning against the counter.

He lit a cigarette and yawned, exhaling a jet of smoke from his mouth at the same time.

"I can't believe how many wounds you had." Bridget fumed.

"I'm a train babes, you know that." Rick smirked.

"You smoke like one." Bridget snapped snatching the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it in his coffee cup, extinguishing it with a hiss.

Rick rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue at Bridget when she turned around. He poured himself another cup and sat down at the table with Arnold and the others at the table.

"So… are you my brother?" Arnold asked.

Rick nodded.

"Miles Phillip Shortman was both of our fathers. The single night of passion that led to my conception was a drunken one and I never had the pleasure of meeting him. My mother died in child birth so I don't think he knows about me."

"Who were those assassins after Arnold?" Bridget asked.

"They work with FutureTech."

"FutureTech?" Helga asked.

Rick nodded.

"They want our fathers journal."

"Oh no!" Arnold gasped. "The journal was in Gerald's car when-

"Calm down man. I wouldn't be where I am today if I wasn't prepared for anything." Rick said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the slightly bent journal. He dropped it on the table like a dead spider and sipped his coffee.

"Why do they want the journal?" Phoebe asked.

"It's the last shred of evidence that our father existed, besides Arnold and me of course, but as you can see, they are working on that. The plane that our father and Arnolds mother was on was supposed to go down. They found out something about FutureTech and they didn't like that."

"So are they…dead?" Arnold asked.

"To the extent of my knowledge? More than likely. If the crash didn't kill them I'm sure FutureTech saw to it in the end."

"Oh…" Arnold said quietly.

Bridget shot Rick a look that would make a baby cry and Rick immediately realized he said something stupid.

"OH! But, hey man. That's what we're out to find out right? I mean come on; I wouldn't have been hired to protect you if there was no hope right?" Rick said quickly.

"I guess… Who hired you anyway?" Arnold asked.

"Some secret organization that wants to see FutureTech fall for good. I did a job for them recently that involved me sludging through the sewers of this charming city. They hired me on to guard Arnold and when I found out the circumstances I was shocked to find out he was my little brother."

"So where do we go from here?" Gerald asked.

Rick cocked an eyebrow.

"You still wanna go?" He asked. "After that Matrix gun fight shit that went down yesterday?"

"We aren't afraid of a few stiffs in suits scare us away. Besides, you owe me a car." Gerald said.

Rick scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine. No skin off my nose." he said.

He lit another cigarette, ignoring the scoff from Bridget. He blew his smoke in the air, letting it pool around above the table. A red line appeared out of mid-air. Bridget's eyes widened as she followed the red line to Rick's chest.

"GET DOWN!" Bridget yelled.

She shoved Rick out of his chair and flipped the table over as the jukebox behind him exploded out of nowhere.

"SNIPER!" Rick yelled.

Bridget leapt behind the counter and grabbed the shotgun she had loaded the night before. She cocked the lever and tossed Rick his jacket. He pulled it on as Phoebe and Helga took cover in the corner of the bar behind a table.

"Stay down." Rick told Arnold as he loaded a handgun.

He crawled out from behind the table and snuck over to the door. He looked outside the window and scoffed.

"Only four?" He asked. "I'm insulted… oh shit."

"What is it?" Bridget called.

"Shrek Two-Ton." Rick said.

"Oh… shit."

"Hello big brother." Rick muttered.

Michael "Shrek" Totone stepped out of the back seat of a black cruiser, which immediately rose about a foot off the ground. He was easily about seven feet tall and almost three hundred pounds of muscle. He was also Rick's half brother. The mercenary that raised Rick was a friend of his mother before she died. Michael was the mercenary's birth son and was two years older than Rick. He grew up jealous of Rick from the attention that Rick got from his father, always in Rick's shadow. He made his trade as a mercenary as well, just less honorable than Rick, taking whatever job came his way, no matter what it was.

Michael Totone cracked his thick neck and began walking towards the bar. He was wearing a black tank top that was holding onto his chest for dear life, threatening to rip with each step he took. His camouflaged pants held nothing but a sheath for a knife that was as long as a knife could be without being a machete. His hair was a bright blonde and his skin the color of tanned leather. He spotted Rick in the window and grinned. Rick ducked back out of the way, his eyes wide with fright.

"That guy scares the shit out of me." he whispered.

"What do we do?" Bridget asked.

Before Rick could respond, a hand the size of a baby's head smashed through the door and began feeling for the lock.

"RUN!" Rick yelled.


	6. Chapter 6: Escape from Hillwood

Chapter 6: Escape from Hillwood.

"RUN! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" Rick bellowed.

"But-

"JUST GO! I'LL HANDLE THIS!"

"Come on, this is his fight." Bridget said as she led the guys out the back door.

"You sure you'll be okay?" She asked Rick.

The massive hand of Michael Totone found the lock and ripped it out of the door.

"Uh, I think so. Wanna leave me the shotgun? just in case?"

She tossed him the shotgun as Michael ripped the door off its hinges.

"We'll be at the airport." She said quickly.

She closed the door behind her as Michael entered the room. He had to _bend down_ under the door frame to step into the room.

"Hello baby bro." He growled. His voice was like the growl of a bear, a very cranky bear. A very cranky bear with rabies. A very cranky bear with rabies that was woken up from a real deep sleep by an obnoxious park ranger and said, "Fuck it, I'll eat the bastard."

Before Rick could get a shot off, Michael jerked the shotgun out of Rick's hands and tossed it against the wall, shattering it like a toy. He grabbed Rick by his jacket and despite Rick's protest, hurled him across the room like a rag doll. He crashed into the jukebox, shattering the antique even further. Rick coughed violently.

"That sucked." He spluttered.

Michael drew his knife, a cruel looking tool with serrated edges. Rick chuckled as he rose clumsily to his feet. He reached into his jacket…

"Hey Mike? Who brings a gun to a knife fight?"

"Hm?"

"The winner!"

Rick drew his handgun from his jacket and pulled the trigger.

_Click…..Click! Click! Click!_

Michael grinned at him.

"Aw fuck." Rick muttered.

-Meanwhile-

"Come on." Bridget said as she led them out the alley.

"No! We have to go back!" Arnold insisted.

"Arnold, I admire your optimism but there's nothing we can do to help Rick. He'll meet us at the airport." Bridget said.

"If not?"

"Then I'll do everything I can to protect you and make sure you find your parents."

Arnold started to protest but Bridget ignored him and practically dragged the group out of the alley. She reached into a compartment on her belt and pulled out a small ball about the size of a ping-pong ball. She pressed a button on it and tossed it out into the street.

"Cover your eyes." she said.

They obeyed and shielded their eyes as the ball detonated and flashed a violent white light blinded everything within twenty feet. She then drew a small handgun from her belt and fired four shots, each into the head of an assassin, dropping them all to the ground.

"Come on." she ordered.

She led the kids over to one of the assassin's cruisers and they got inside.

"Buckle up!" she said.

"Not again…" Phoebe cried.

"It'll be okay." Gerald promised.

She nodded timidly and followed him into the back seat of the car next to Helga. No sooner had the locks on their seat belts clicked, the engine of the car roared to life and Bridget took off down the street.

"Guys, are there any guns back there?" Bridget asked.

Gerald reached into the floor of the car and pulled out a SPAS-12 shotgun.

"That'll do." Bridget said.

She turned a hard corner, nearly knocking the passengers to the floor, despite their safety belts.

"Gerald? Pass the shotgun up here." Bridget said.

Gerald handed her the shotgun and she handed it to Arnold.

"What?! What do you expect me to do with this?" Arnold cried.

"Aim and shoot." Bridget said.

"But-

She swerved another corner. Behind them, three black cruisers and a black Hummer came into view. Reinforcements.

"Arnold, these men want to _kill_ you and your friends. They won't stop until they do. I won't ask you to kill them, I know that's not your thing, but shoot the tires if you can."

"But-

"Arnold? Look at me."

Arnold looked up at the beautiful brown haired vixen. She had taken her eyes off the road and looked directly into Arnold's eyes.

"I know you can do it." she said.

Arnold nodded slowly.

"Oh for fucks sake!" Helga barked.

She angrily grabbed the shotgun from Arnolds lap and rolled her window down, ignoring the protest from her friends and Bridget. She leaned out, got a bead on the closest car, and squeezed the trigger. The front left tire of the cruiser exploded and the car swerved to the left , ramming another cruiser into a post office.

"Fucking A" Gerald said.

Rick coughed miserably as pulled himself to his knees.

"You should really quit smoking." Michael purred. "Bad for your health."

Rick laughed dryly.

"And I suppose getting the shit kicked out of me isn't?"

He pulled himself to his feet and swayed on the spot. His face was a mess of bruises and he had bits of glass in his cheek.

"Let's settle this like men." Michael said.

He placed his knife on the counter and cracked his knuckles.

Rick shrugged out of his jacket and smirked.

"Bring it on Rocky Horror." Rick said.

Michael growled and broke into a run that shook the whole building. Rick side-stepped and slugged Michael in the stomach, immediately regretting it. He gritted his teeth and clenched his hand as though he had struck a concrete wall. Michael laughed and swung a right hook at Rick, missing by mere inches. The fight was a stale mate, for every blow Michael threw; Rick dodged and delivered two more, not even making Michael cringe. About ten minutes of this led to both of the fighters panting in a tired sweat. In the distance they heard the wail of several police sirens.

"Truce?" Rick wheezed extending his hand.

"Yeah." Michael muttered shaking it.

"Later Shrek." Rick said.

He grabbed his jacket and stumbled to the back door.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" Michael asked in mock concern.

"Oh no, I love the taste of my own blood." Rick called back brightly.

He stepped out into the alley and lit a cigarette. As he stepped out onto the street, four black cruisers roared past.

Things were getting bad.


	7. Authors note

-Authors note-

I realize that as of now, Helga and Phoebe haven't been getting a lot of face time, and what little Helga has gotten it has been pretty one dimensional. I've been thinking of some stuff that I'll include in the upcoming chapter or so. Thanks for reading.

Snoogins. :)


	8. Chapter 7: Trial separation by fire

Chapter 7: Trial separation by fire

7:1 the getaway

Bridget swerved violently around the street corner. The box of shells Helga was using to reload her shotgun was knocked to the floorboard, scattering them in every direction.

"Watch it!" Helga yelled from the backseat.

"Sorry!" Bridget yelled back.

She swerved another corner, knocking Phoebe to the ground with a squeak, and doing nothing to evade the black hummer that was still hot in pursuit.

"Fuck!" Bridget yelled angrily. "Helga do you have that damn shotgun ready?"

"Almost…" Helga said concentrating on loading the weapon.

Finally, she loaded the final shell into it and cocked it. She leaned back out the window and took aim at the huge hummer. She blasted off a shell directly into the windshield of the vehicle, not even scratching it. At first she thought the shotgun misfired and she didn't hit it at all but after putting two more shells into it and ending up with the same result she grunted in frustration and pulled herself back into the car.

"It's shatter proof!" She yelled to Bridget.

"Of course it is." Bridget sighed.

Helga felt around the bottom of the car looking for more shells as Gerald tried to comfort a hysteric Phoebe and Arnold held on for dear life. Helga pumped the shotgun and leaned back out the window to see the hummer had slowed down and was at the other end of the street.

"I think they're running away!" she called. "YEAH THAT'S RIGHT DIRT RAGS!

She fired another shell into the air as Bridget scoffed to herself and shook her head.

_Kids._ She thought.

Her smile quickly disappeared as she saw the window of the hummer roll down and assassin wielding an RPG leaned out and fired the weapon. The only sound that escaped Bridget's lips was a weird croaking sound as the RPG hit the ground next to the car and exploded, sending the car flying through the air. As the car began to land, Bridget thought of Rick's smug face. She smiled grimly to herself as the car hit the ground and she lost con-

7:2 my friends

Rick stumbled through downtown Hillwood like a corpse. His entire body ached from the fight with Michael but he didn't dare stop. It had been about three hours or so since he had separated from his friends and he was anxious to join them. He hobbled across the street like an old man and walked up to an ATM. He pulled out a plastic card and swiped it through the reader. He punched in his PIN, and typed in the requested amount. The machine beeped and whirred then spat out a stack of hundreds. As Rick stuffed the money in his pockets, he saw a man dressed in a hoodie with the hood pulled up and dark glasses on his face slowly approaching him from behind, the man's hand hidden in the pocket of his hoodie. Rick sighed in disdain. He was in no mood for this. As the man stepped on the curb and began to draw whatever weapon he had concealed, Rick turned around and opened his jacket, revealing the several handguns he had hidden inside.

"Don't even think about it." Rick growled.

His threat was an empty one, he had run out of ammo ages ago but the mugger didn't need to know that. The man did an about-face that was almost comical and walked away as quickly as he could without breaking into a run.

Rick scoffed and continued up the street. About twenty minutes of hobbling around downtown, he found the building he was looking for: a rundown, seedy looking pawn shop next to a building that many people would agree to be a meth lab. A neon sign reading **Golden Slipper Pawn **flickered above the doorway. Rick pushed open the heavy steel door with a groan, a feat he could have done easily if he wasn't bleeding so profusely. He stepped inside the small building, slightly gagging at the heavy scent of weed that filled the room like a poisonous gas.

"Fuzzy? You here man?" Rick called.

"Wah gwan?" A voice called from a back room. "Ricky, dat choo boy?"

"Yeah man it's me."

The door behind the counter opened and smoke billowed out of it like a bad Cheech and Chong movie. A tall scrawny Jamaican man stepped through the smoke and pushed his rose tinted glasses up his nose. His skin was incredibly dark and his dreadlocks reached the bottom of his dirty, baggy t-shirt. He had a wise aura around him, like the type who always had something interesting to talk about, but smoked so much pot it was more than likely you'd hear the same story several times before you heard something new.

"Fuzzy Slippers, how's the business?" Rick asked as they shook hands.

"Naw bad, naw bad mon. Twat brings you 'ere mon? Weren't you just here an hour ago?" Fuzzy asked.

"I was here almost a week ago Fuzzy." Rick said. "I actually wanted to check in on my special order. Have you finished it yet?"

"Oh yeah mon, I finished it just this morning. Lemme go an' fetch it."

Fuzzy stood there for about five seconds, gasped as though he remembered something and disappeared into the back room. Rick sighed and leaned against the counter. He had to get some better contacts. A moment later, Fuzzy came back holding a small attaché case.

"Ricky mon! I forgot to tell you that I finished your order this afternoon!"

Rick snorted to himself as Fuzzy set the attaché case on the counter. Rick started to open it but Fuzzy placed his hand on top of the latch.

"Me pay?" He asked.

_Got to give credit where it's due. Guy can't remember what his name is but he knows to get payed. _Rick thought as he pulled out his money.

"Five k right?" Rick asked.

Fuzzy nodded as Rick counted it out. He dropped it on the counter and pulled the case towards him. He opened it up and smiled. Resting on the soft leather interior of the case were two Colt 1911A1 handguns. They were a glossy black color with silver receivers. "Cross" had been etched into the polished wooden handles and small silencers had been attached to both of them, capable of being removed with a single twist. Green lasers had been attached to the bottom of the barrel and were almost hidden unless you knew where to look for them. Truly a master piece of work designed by Rick and assembled by Fuzzy. They used to belong to David Totone, the mercenary that raised him as a child. Rick smiled to himself as he looked down the sights of the deadly weapon, thinking of the stories it could tell.

"Fuzzy I could kiss you…" Rick sighed as he gently ran his finger across one.

"Cash is fine." Fuzzy chuckled.

"I'm gonna need as much ammo as you got. And give me the two Glocks I was looking at last week and the Kalashnikov."

"OH! I almost forgot. This came in too."

He reached under the counter and pulled out another attaché case, smaller than the one the handguns came in. Rick opened it and scoffed. It was filled with small syringes, like the ones used by nurses to prick your thumb. They were filled with a thick, silver liquid that looked like melted silver. **Quik-Clot **had been stamped on the needles plastic cover. Along with the Quik-Clot were regular sized needles with a clear liquid floating inside. **Stim-pack MK.I **had been stamped on these. They were the medical supplies Rick had requested two missions ago.

"You wanna I should wrap them up for you?" Fuzzy asked.

"No thanks." Rick said closing both cases. "I'll wear them out."

7:3 On the run

Arnold opened his eyes as soon as the car stopped spinning, realizing the car was upside down. He looked next to him and saw that Bridget was unconscious and his friends in the back were still trying to recuperate from the flight. He unhooked his seatbelt and fell to the top of the car. He kicked the door open and crawled out. He leaned back inside and pulled Bridget out onto the street.

"Guys? Are you okay?" Arnold called.

"Yeah." Gerald called back.

"I think so…" Phoebe sniffled.

"I'm fine football head!" Helga said pulling herself out of the car.

She helped Phoebe out of the car and Gerald crawled out after them. The hummer at the other end of the street revved its engine.

"Into the subway!" Arnold said.

Gerald got on the other side of Arnold and helped him carry Bridget into the subway; Helga grabbed the shotgun and followed them into the subway.

"Come on Pheebs." she said pulling her along with her.

They stumble down the stairs and onto the abandoned subway platform.

"Where's the train?" Arnold wondered.

"Where are the people?" Helga asked.

"Come on, we can go through the maintenance tunnels." Gerald said.

They walked over to a door at the end of the platform and jiggled the handle.

"Its-

_Click-clack!_

Helga pumped the shotgun and blasted the handle off the door, the spent shell clattered on the floor with a hollow clicking sound.

"Locked." Arnold finished.

"Let's go." she said.

They stumbled through the narrow maintenance corridor, barely wide enough for two people to walk through. The corridor was hot and stuffy, every once in awhile super heated steam would blast out from a pipe over head and they'd have to wait for it to stop. Finally, they found another door that led them out into another abandoned subway platform.

"Can we please stop?" Phoebe asked.

"Yeah." Arnold gasped. "I think we're safe now."

They all slumped against the wall of the subway in a sweat. Arnold reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He wiped the sweat and dirt off his face as best he could and passed it to Gerald who declined it.

"What do we do now?" Phoebe asked.

"We got to contact Rick." Arnold said.

"How?"

Arnold looked at Bridget's utility belt. It contained several pouches probably containing various high-tech spy equipments. It also had a holster containing her small side arm, similar to the one James Bond carried just fitted with a small but thick silencer.

"Walther PPK." Helga said.

She leaned down and pulled the gun out of its holster. She slid the clip out, checked it, and then slid it back into place. She cocked it and handed it to Gerald.

"How do you know?" Gerald asked.

"Big Bob used to take me to his gun club meetings." Helga said. "I've used one before as well as several other handguns."

"Explains why you were good with a shotgun." Arnold said.

"Amazing isn't it football head?" Helga sneered.

Arnold rolled his eyes and began going through Bridget's belt.

"Hey, look!"

He pulled out a small PDA with a touch screen. A green light was flashing in the top corner and a small envelope had appeared in the middle of the screen. He pulled out the stylus and touched the envelope, which grew, opened and the name "Ricky Baby" appeared.

"Ricky Baby?" Helga scoffed. "Figures."

Arnold laughed in relief and touched the stylus to the icon.

**Where the fuck are you guys?** The message read.

Arnold quickly typed back.

**This is Arnold. Bridget is knocked out and we are hiding in the subway tunnel #47. **

A second passed then another message appeared. 

**Have u seen the news? Use Bridget's PDA and turn it to the local news network.**

Arnold obeyed and clicked on the little icon shaped like a television screen. The PDA darkened for a second and lit back up, replaced with the live feed from the 5 o'clock news. The news anchor, an old man with a bad toupee finished writing whatever it was that news anchors write on the paper in front of them and looked at the camera.

"It seems our city has been the target of a terrorist attack. Earlier last night, an explosion in front of Hillwood cemetery destroyed a car and part of an apartment building. The people responsible then stole a car and began driving around downtown tossing grenades out the window, destroying several traffic lights and harming over a dozen civilians. The two responsible for the attacks are still on the run. Their names are unknown but we have with us photographs of the alleged terrorists."

The screen changed as a display of Bridget and Rick appeared.

"The terrorist are armed and extremely dangerous. They have already murdered several people and are currently on the run. A city wide man hunt is in effect until the culprits are caught and arrested, until then schools and several businesses have been closed down until further notice. Civilians are advised to stay indoors and NOT make contact with the terrorists-"

Arnold turned the TV off as the PDA chirped and another message.

**I'll meet u in the subway. Stay put and hold up until I show up.**

Arnold quickly typed back a reply and slumped back against the wall.

Things were getting really, really bad.


	9. Chapter 8: Warzone: Hillwood

Chapter 8- Warzone: Hillwood

Arnold paced the subway platform nervously. Hours had passed since he'd talked to Rick and he was worried. Phoebe said that Bridget's left leg was broken in two places and wouldn't be walking anytime soon and Helga was down to her last couple of shells. On the surface above, he could hear the wailing of sirens and the sputtering of gunfire. The news said riots had broken out over the city.

"This is all my fault." He muttered.

He slumped against the wall and held his head in his hands.

"Bull." Gerald said.

He leaned over and put his hand on Arnold's shoulder. His clothes were torn, dirty and partly singed. Bridget's handgun was tucked into his pocket with the safety off just in case.

"You had nothing to do with this and you know it."

"Don't beat yourself up Arnold." Phoebe said.

"Oh let football head wallow in his own self misery." Helga said.

"Helga would it really kill you to be a little sensitive?" Gerald snapped.

"I think Arnold needs to take himself off the pedestal he puts himself on and join us down here in the real world." Helga said.

She crossed her arms and stared at Arnold angrily.

"It's always about _you_ isn't it? Like the world seems to revolve around you, whenever something bad happens to someone it seems there's always you could have done to stop it. If that's true Arnold then why didn't you?"

Arnold said nothing. He just stared at the dirty floor of the platform. Helga sighed and kneeled down next to him.

"You can't save everyone Arnold. No matter how hard you try, there'll always be someone who falls through your fingers."

Arnold sighed.

"I know." He said quietly. "It's just… I hate feeling so useless."

"You're not useless Arnold." Helga said. "Don't let anyone ever tell you that."

Arnold looked up at her with a confused expression on his face, taken aback by the completely uncharacteristic thing Helga had said to him. Gerald cocked an eyebrow at her and Phoebe beamed at her. She turned a violent shade of red and stood back up.

"H-have you heard from that brother of yours yet football head?" She asked nervously.

"N-no. I'll try and call him." Arnold said.

He stood up and took Bridget's mini PDA out of his pocket. He scrolled down to "Ricky Baby" and pressed call. It rang for a moment then Rick's face appeared on the screen.

"Bridge?" He asked.

Arnold could hear the faint crack of gun fire in the background.

"No it's me." Arnold said.

"Hey Ricky Baby!" Gerald yelled behind him.

Rick looked confused.

"Wha- Oh! That, right."

"Where are you?" Arnold asked.

More gun fire.

"I'm- shit. Hold on."

Rick set the PDA down, stood up and fired his handgun at somebody, the spent casings clattering on the ground next to the PDA. Rick slid a new clip into his handgun and racked the slide back.

"Arnold? I gotta go; I'll be there in like ten-

More gun fire.

"Uh, make it twenty minutes."

The PDA went hissed and went black.

"Wow." Gerald said. "Glad he's on our side."

Rick nudged the PDA with his foot and turned it off. He took cover behind the car and stuck it back in his pocket. The gang members had him out numbered about ten to one. Their weapons were in poor quality and seemed to be jamming a lot, giving him the chance to open fire with his Glocks. But every time he took one down, two more popped up.

"Like cockroaches." Rick muttered.

The gunfire ceased as the gang members either reloaded or tried to unjam their guns. Rick broke cover and sprayed both clips from his Glocks into the car they had hidden behind, hitting the gas tank and nuking it. The car went up in a fireball, crisping the poor souls who hid behind it. Rick reloaded his guns and took off up the street before more could come to their aid. The city had gone to hell pretty quick, there were riots, looting and several cases of arson. The sky had turned red and the night air was filled with the sounds of gun shots and screams. He couldn't do anything about that though, the cops were on the hunt for him as well, being the "terrorist" responsible for it all.

_That word has become so popular of late…_ He thought.

He turned the corner and jogged past a fire truck trying to put out an ice cream parlor before it completely burned down, which for some dark reason he thought to be funny. He passed an ambulance as a pair of paramedics lifted a stretcher into the back of it. Rick had grown up in warzones, which hardened him over the years, negating any feelings of remorse towards the dead and dying that peppered the city. He wasn't heartless; there was just nothing he could do for them. All he needed to worry about was his mission and making sure Arnold got to his parents, he didn't really care about Arnolds little friends. Gerald didn't really grasp onto the aim/shoot concept and Phoebe wouldn't shut up.

_That Helga girls pretty cute though… Too bad she's hot for Arnold._ He thought.

He hadn't said anything of course but he could see it in her footsteps and how she talked. When he first met her he was sure she was a cold bitch but now she's just annoying.

He turned the corner then immediately stepped back. A police barricade had been set up at the end of the street and right behind it; the entrance to the subway platform Arnold and the others were hiding.

Rick chuckled darkly to himself.

"Of course…"

He drew his Colts and walked up the street.

"There he is! Open fire!"

Arnold almost jumped out of his skin as the sound of automatic gunfire erupted on the street above.

"Where the fuck did he go?!" A voice called out.

More gunfire with the occasional scream thrown in.

"Where-?"

"Up there!"

More gunfire and then… silence. Footsteps echoed on the stairs as a shadow appeared. Gerald's hands fluttered to the handgun as Helga pumped the shotgun.

"At ease kids." Rick said as he came down the stairs.

He holstered his handguns and held his hands up, his typical smug smile painted on his face like a Norman Rockwell painting. Helga lowered the shotguns with an annoyed sigh and Gerald saluted him. His smile widened as he walked over to them.

"You're not gonna let me live the nickname down are you?" Rick asked Gerald as he kneeled next to Bridget.

"Nope." Gerald grinned.

"Well now were even." Rick replied.

"Like he-

Rick ignored him.

"Bridge? Can you hear me?" He asked softly.

Bridget's eyes fluttered open slightly

"Rick?" she said quietly.

"No, I'm the grim reaper come to rake your soul to purgatory with all the unbaptized babies" He smiled.

"Asshole…" she muttered.

He laughed lightly and pulled a small syringe from his pocket.

"Where is she hurt?" He asked.

"Her left tibia and femur are broken." Phoebe said.

Rick nodded and stuck the small syringe in her leg.

"What is that stuff?" Phoebe asked, fascinated by the faint silvery glow.

"The new sensation that's sweeping the nation." Rick replied.

He injected the stuff into her, Bridget gasped and clasped onto his hand. Her leg shook violently as her bones snapped back into place.

"Yeah, that sounded like it hurt." Rick smiled softly.

He slowly helped Bridget to her feet. She wobbled on the spot then stood up straight. She sighed professionally as she regained her posture and snapped her fingers at Arnold and Gerald.

"Gun and PDA."

They both handed them to her at once. She stuck the pistol in her holster and punched in a number on her PDA.

"Johnson this is Bridget, clearance number 00-342-261. Have the calico ready for us at the air field within the hour."

She turned the PDA off and put it back into her utility belt. She drew her handgun and checked its ammo as Rick tossed her a few extra clips and handed Helga a new box of shells.

"Ready?" He asked.

"How bad is it up there?" Bridget asked.

"Pretty bad, seen worse." Rick shrugged.

"Let's go."

They left the subway and stepped out onto the street. Phoebe gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth as a chopper roared over head then went down on the next street over. The sky was still a violent shade of red and was choked with black smoke. What was once a police barricade was still smoldering in flames across the street.

"Yeah things are pretty bad…" Rick said.

"We have to get to the airport. I arranged for transport to take you out of the city and wherever you need to go."

More gunshots and screams.

"How do we do that?" Gerald asked.

Rick jogged over to the barricade and opened the driver's side door of a SWAT car.

"Keys are still here." He called. "These things can with stand any small arms fire. Should get us where we need to go."

They nodded and joined him inside. Rick and Bridget rode up front with the others in the back. Before they left, Rick looked around in the back of the SWAT car and handed Arnold a Beretta 92FS and Gerald a Five-seveN handgun.

"If you have to, use them." Rick said.

Before they could protest, Rick hopped out of the car and slammed the doors shut. He got into the front next to Bridget and turned the car on.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Let's go."

They traveled through the city as fast as the heavy car could go; most of the rioters ignored the giant machine, sticking to looting and burning. Every time they passed a blockade, Rick would turn on the siren and speed up as though he was rushing to be somewhere then slow back down when he turned the corner.

"So far so good." Gerald said.

Rick sighed.

_Jinxed._ He thought.

As he drove up the ramp that would take them to the Airport, a helicopter shined its searchlight on the SWAT van.

"Stop! In the name of the law!" A familiar voice boomed on a speaker in a mocking tone.

Rick looked out his window and saw the grinning face of Michael Totone.

"How come he gets a frickin' helicopter?" Rick asked.

He strapped his seat belt and told the others to hold on. He floored the accelerator and sped up the ramp as the machine gun on the chopper opened fire on them. Bridget grabbed a Desert Eagle off the dash board and opened fire on the chopper as Rick zigzagged through the crashed cars on the ramp.

"Keep it steady!" Bridget said.

"I'm trying!" Rick hollered as he swerved to avoid a flaming car.

"Use this, it's bigger!" Rick said handing her the Kalashnikov.

She pulled back the receiver and unfolded the stock. She aimed at the blades of the Chopper and fired in short controlled bursts.

"You okay back there?" Rick called.

"Oh yeah, why don't you come back and join us?" Helga said as she was thrown to the floor of the van. "It's a big old party back here!"

Rick turned to say something snarky then saw a M32 MGL grenade launcher hanging on a weapons rack.

"Actually…" Rick said.

"Take the wheel!" He said to Bridget.

"Wha-

Rick climbed out of the driver's seat and into the back with the others. He grabbed the grenade launcher and loaded it with Incendiary rounds. He slung it on his back and walked over to the back doors of the van.

"Wish me luck!" He smiled at the kids.

"What are you gonna-

Rick kicked the doors open while the car was still moving and pulled himself onto the roof. He carefully pulled himself to his feet and took aim with the MGL. Michael spotted him and opened fire with the choppers machine gun. The huge caliber bullets sprayed around Rick like rain drops, the sweeping of the chopper causing them to miss. Rick aimed through the sights of the MGL and clicked his tongue.

"Later Shrek." He muttered.

He pulled the trigger and the grenade flew out of the barrel, hitting the top of the chopper and sending it spinning out of control. Inside the cock pit, Michael cursed, shoved the body of the choppers previous pilot out of the way and jumped out into the water under the ramp. The helicopter sputtered then crashed into the bridge about twenty yards ahead of the SWAT van, taking a large chunk of the bridge with it.

"Oh… crap."

Rick tossed the grenade launcher away and carefully maneuvered back into the interior of the van.

"What happened?" Arnold asked.

"An awesome explosion, I'll tell you about it later." Rick said.

He got back in front of the van next to Bridget who starred daggers at him.

"Rick, what the hell?" She fumed.

"I'm sorry, okay?!"

"Well hold on, things are going to get bumpy." Bridget snapped as she shifted gears.

"Children?" Rick called to them in the back. "You might wanna grab onto something things'll get… bumpy."

Phoebe squeaked and grabbed onto Gerald's shoulder and Helga subconsciously grabbed onto Arnolds hand and squeezed. Bridget floored the accelerator to the point where it almost snapped and the van rose into the air, flying over the gap of the bridge. Time seemed to slow down for everyone. Arnold could hear his heart beat slowly, then, he heard something beat in rhythm with his, slightly faster at first then slowed down and beat in unison. He felt the vibrations start in his hand then pulse throughout his body. He looked down and saw Helga's hand clutching onto his. He opened his mouth when suddenly, the van smashed onto the ground and screeched to a violent halt, throwing Arnold to the ground and pulling Helga on top of him. His eyes shot wide open as he felt her lips contact with his.

"That was WAY better than any theme park ride. Excellent driving babes." Rick said as he quickly got out of the van

Bridget scoffed at him and followed him out. The two of them opened the back door of the van and gasped, or in Rick's case, snorted at what they saw.

"Oh my…"

"Wow."

Helga felt her face go off like it had been lit on fire. She looked at them, back at Arnold who was in a daze, over to Phoebe who blushed and smiled, and then at Gerald who looked like he had just had an epiphany.

"Ew, get away me foot ball head!" She screamed.

She stuck her foot under Arnold and kicked him off of her and out of the SWAT car. Rick caught him and helped him to his feet as Helga got out of the back. She grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and made a move to punch him, her eyes burning with a mad fire.

"Don't ever touch me again you hear me?"

"Wha- what happened?" Arnold asked.

"Helga made you a man Arnold." Rick laughed.

The look Helga gave Rick would have shattered a mirror and turned the glass into dust but he didn't seem to notice. Bridget punched him in the shoulder to shut him up.

"As long as the car can still move, let's head to the airport." Bridget said.

Rick nodded and followed her back into the front of the SWAT van and Arnold and the others got into the back of the vehicle, Helga sitting as far away from Arnold as she could and glared at him the rest of the trip. Her face remained red and she tried to get her heart to stop beating. Awhile later, they pulled into the airport and drove to the last runway on the strip where what looked like a smaller version of a black hawk helicopter waited for them.

"Well, this has been fun." Rick said.

They got out of the SWAT car and greeted the pilot, a pretty woman about the same age as Bridget if not a little younger.

"Sure you won't come with us?" Rick asked Bridget.

"My place is here. I didn't realize FutureTech had such a grip on the city. I have to be here to watch over it." Bridget said.

"Johnson will take you where you need to go."

"Thanks for everything Bridget. It was great to see you again. I just wish it was under different circumstances."

"Me too." Bridget smiled.

She wrapped her arms around Arnold and hugged him good-bye.

"Arnold." She whispered. "Trust no one and listen to what Rick says. He may not look it but he's smart and you'll need him to help you find your parents and stop FTI from whatever they are planning."

"Thanks. I will." Arnold promised.

She released him and shook his hand.

"I hope we'll meet again." She smiled.

She turned to Rick, who smiled at her in the way that made her heart race and want to kick the crap out of him at the same time.

"You better come back in one piece you hear me?" She threatened.

"Yeah, yeah."

Arnold wasn't sure, but as he boarded the helicopter, he could have sworn he saw the two of them kiss, if only briefly. He sat down in a seat next to Gerald, across from Phoebe and Helga who continued to glare at him. Rick got in and sat down next to the pilot.

"Where to?" She asked.

"Mexico City." Rick said.

He reached into the jacket of his pocket and took out a small envelope. He reached inside and took out a photograph of the man who was his and Arnold's father, the woman who was Arnolds mother and a Hispanic man with a mustache and slight beard.

_I'm coming for you…_ Rick thought.


	10. Chapter 9: viva la mexico

Chapter 9: viva la mexico! or music of the night.

Arnold sighed and plopped down on the couch in the small apartment. It smelled vaguely of moth balls and something more foul but he didn't care. After almost ten hours of flying in a chopper, anything was comfortable.

"What a dump." Helga said eyeing the room.

It was small, cramped and smelled horrible. The wooden floors looked weak, a fact made even more unnerving by the fact they were on the 3rd floor.

"This is a two bedroom apartment?" Phoebe asked.

"More like two closet." Helga said checking out the rooms.

"It'll have to do." Rick said walking into the kitchen and testing the water faucets.

"We want to lay low, no sense in letting FTI know we're here already. If we're lucky, they'll think we never made it out of Hillwood."

"You really think they have agents here?" Phoebe asked.

Rick nodded and began going through the cabinets. He found a bottle of Tequila and a shot glass and set them on the counter.

"Definalty. They've been searching for Arnolds parents for awhile and now they know that we know we have a lead."

"What do we do now?" Gerald asked.

Rick lit a cigarette and poured a shot of tequila.

"We wait. I'm meeting a contact in the next day or so. In the meantime, relax while we still can. As soon as I'm resupplied, we go into the jungle and the search really begins."

"What did they find out?" Arnold asked.

"Not sure. I don't know the specifics but they found out FTI was doing some research in the area."

"What kind of research?" Phoebe asked.

Rick took his shot.

"The illegal kind." He grimaced. "The kind where if you found out about it, you'd disappear kind. Anyway, they found out about it and thought they put a stop to it, or _tried_ to put a stop to it. They failed and FTI had them disposed of."

He checked his watch and yawned.

"We should rest." he said. "We'll scout out the area tomorrow and get a feel for the city, I've never been to Mexico before and I want to know where everything is."

He stuck the bottle of tequila back into the cabinet and walked into the living room.

"I'll grab the couch, you guys divy up the rooms however you want."

They grabbed their bags and the girls took one room and the boys had their own. Helga did her best to beat the dust and dirt off her matress and make it semi-usable while phoebe searched the closet for linens. Phoebe screamed and almost fainted at the sight of a spider the size of her fist and had to call Rick to come kill it.

"Welcome to mexico, where the spiders are so big they have health bars…" he joked wading the dead spider up in tissue.

Phoebe refused to sleep with the lights off after that.

Helga tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally giving up, she got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. Rick was awake and sitting at the kitchen table in a battered tank-top and sleep pants cleaning his guns.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked without turning to face her.

"The bed feels like a dry cat's tongue." She muttered.

He chuckled and resumed cleaning his guns.

"Couch wasn't much better."

She opened the dirty fridge and took out a bottle of water, one of the many Rick had purchased earlier for "saftey reasons." Rick chuckled and continued disasembling his guns and cleaning each part individualy.

"Colts?" Helga asked.

Rick didn't answer and it was then Helga noticed the headphones in his ears. She strained to listen to what was playing, faintly hearing the music and getting the feeling it was familiar. She racked her mind trying to think of lyrics that went with the tune… what could it be? Rick started whistling the tune to himself, unaware of the massive brain fart Helga was experiencing. Helga gasped as the lyrics finally floated into her head. Like with most brain farts, she wanted to kick herself for not realizing it.

"Phantom?" Helga asked loud enough for Rick to just catch it.

"Hm?" He asked removing one of the buds.

"Your listening to _Phantom of the Opera _right?" She asked.

"Oh. Yeah. I have the original soundtrack on this thing." He said motioning to his PDA.

Helga scoffed.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a music lover, especially of that caliber."

"I'll take that as a complement…"

He finished putting his first handgun together as _music of the night_ started playing.

"I've always liked music." Rick said. "Musicals in particular. Andrew Lloyd Weber's one of my favorites."

"I got to see it on Broadway." Helga said. "It was the junior theatre trip and we went to New York to see _Phantom_ and _Little shop of horrors_."

"Lucky…" Rick said. "I've wanted to take some time off to go see it but I haven't had the time. I got to see Rocky Horror though…"

"Did you do the audience participation?" Helga asked.

"Hell yeah."

_Click-clack!_

Rick chambered a round in his handgun and set it aside. He picked up the SPAS-12 Helga had used earlier and began taking it apart. Helga looked at the various scars on his arms and chest. He had amassed quite a collection over the years, from various gunshot wounds, knife wounds, burns etc.

"You're so young…" Helga said thoughtfully.

"Hm?" He asked as he checked the firing pin.

"You're just so young, I was just wondering how you got into this line of work."

Rick said nothing and just continued cleaning the shotgun.

"If you don't mind me asking that is." Helga said quickly, feeling like she'd offended him.

"No, it's cool. I was just born into it. My mom was a merc so I probably would have become one anyway. It isn't much different than taking over the family business. It just so happens that my family business involves lots and lots of bullets…. and has better medical. Usually."

"When did you start doing missions?" Helga asked.

"I think I was about eight or so when my adoptive father began taking Michael and I out to the field with him. He didn't give us guns or anything; we just carried the extra ammo. I was ten when I went on my first real mission. I joined the HSS academy at twelve and went solo at sixteen."

"All by yourself?" Helga asked.

He nodded.

"I've had temporary partners and worked with other mercs on some missions. I've done something's with Bridget too but apart from that, yeah. All by myself. I like it better that way… You like Arnold don't you?" He asked suddenly

"W-What!?" Helga asked completely caught off guard. "What are you talking about?! I hate the little-

Rick cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Oh come off it Helga. I can see it in your face. When you walk and how you carry yourself. That and the fact you bully him relentlessly but for some reason, decided to come with him on a life threatening mission."

Helga opened and closed her mouth several times in a row like a land stuck fish. Rick chuckled and finished putting the shotgun together.

"Don't worry." He said. "I won't say anything but this: You should go for it. Count yourself lucky that there's someone in your life you feel that you have a connection with and can see yourself spending the rest of your life with."

Helga was taken aback by the deepness of what Rick was talking about. He set the shotgun aside and lit a cigarette.

"I've loved him since the moment I met him." Helga began softly. "The only reason I went to that retarded school and put up with those idiot students was so I could see him. I don't even know why I

"Well, what about you?" She snapped.

"Whatever do you mean?" Rick asked innocently.

"What about you and Bridget? She had you under "Ricky Baby" in her PDA. What about that?"

Rick scoffed and flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray.

"That was a long time ago." He said softly. "We tried but it would never work out. I can't stand being in the same place for too long, it just isn't me. We used to fight a lot too. You ever seen _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_?" Rick asked.

Helga nodded.

"Yeah, well when a spy/merc couple fights, it's kinda like that but I'd never raise a gun to her." He laughed. "I don't think she's above shooting me though, god knows she's wanted to."

"Did you love her?" Helga asked.

Rick nodded.

"Yeah… But that's history."

The song on the PDA _Down once more_ reached its crescendo and the phantom sang, _"You alone can make my song take flight! It's over now, the music of the night!"_

"Welp," Rick said turning the PDA off. "I'm heading back to bed, well the couch."

Helga nodded and drained her water bottle. She went back into her bedroom and crawled into her bed, thinking of what Rick said to her.

The assassin sat in his small hotel room staring at his computer screen. It showed an image of a teenage girl with blonde hair as she got back into bed in a dingy bedroom. The screen blinked and turned to another room, this one showing his target Arnold tossing and turning in his bed. He knew where they were, they were at his mercy. He could take them anytime he wanted but not yet. He had to wait, always wait. He turned his computer off and without closing his eyes, drifted into what his equivalent of "sleep" was.

Arnold tossed and turned in his sleep. He was having a nightmare, a bizarre one. He was running through a burning village made of stone, gunfire filled the night air as bullets and arrows flew over his head like insects. Ahead of him was a massive stone temple, its architecture not unlike that of the Aztecs or Mayans. He raced up the crumbling steps of the ancient temple until he came to the entrance. He stepped into the temple and everything went dark. Arnold awoke suddenly in a cold sweat, straining to remember his dream. He rolled out of bed and trudged into the kitchen where Helga and Phoebe were sitting at the kitchen table. Phoebe was sipping coffee and Helga was cycling through music on Ricks PDA.

"Morning Arnold." Phoebe said.

"Hey. Where's Rick?"

"He went to meet his contact in the city. He should be back soon." Phoebe said.

Helga either didn't acknowledge Arnold or simply ignored him, humming to whatever music she was listening to. Arnold poured himself a cup of coffee as Gerald walked into the room looking tired and uncomfortable.

"Morning." Arnold greeted.

Gerald muttered something and rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something about a painful crick. The front door creaked open and Rick maneuvered his way into the room, his arms full of several brown packages. Helga took the earphones out of her ears and leapt up to help him

"Slight change of plans gang." He said as Helga took some of the packages from him and set them on the table. "Thanks, Helga. We'll be in town slightly longer than I thought."

"Why?" Arnold asked.

Rick reached into his jacket and took out a manila envelope. He opened it and took out a photograph which he handed to Arnold. The photograph was of a middle aged Hispanic man with a receding hair line and grey beard. He was climbing into an expensive looking town car along with two burly looking body guards.

"Eduardo Esteban." Rick said.

"I know this guy!" Arnold said. "He was in my dad's journal. He was his best friend when he was in San Lorenzo."

"Mm-hmm." rick said as he sorted through the packages. "He was also the bastard who sold our father out."

''What?!"

"Eduardo Esteban betrayed our father. There wasn't some illness plaguing his village, he sold our father out to FTI, the plane our father was on was supposed to go down. Now he lives in a private estate somewhere in the city."

"So what do we do?" Helga asked.

Rick opened one of the packages and held a black masquerade mask to his face.

"We go to a party."


	11. Chapter 10: masquerade

Chapter 10: Masquerade!

"I hate you guys so much right now…" Gerald muttered.

He adjusted his tie and cursed their names.

"I thought you were into suits and dressing nice." Arnold asked.

"Yeah, dressing nice, not dressing up." Gerald fumed.

He was wearing a blue velvet suit with a gold satin vest. His full face mask was white with gold lips and gold tear drops going down the left eye. Arnolds costume was the inverse to Gerald's, being gold with a blue vest.

"I think you look nice." Phoebe complemented.

She looked beautiful in her electric blue silk geisha gown. It had white doves printed on it, each holding a different type of flower in its beak. Her mask was a face mask made of white porcelain with limbs of a cherry blossom stretching across it. She had styled her hair for the occasion, pulling it back with black sticks.

"T-thanks Pheebs." Gerald muttered blushing under his mask.

"I _hate_ high heels." Helga whined as she stormed out of the room she used to change in.

She looked surprisingly good in her gown. It was pink and frilly, Victorian era in design and sewn together with gold strings. Her mask that she held in her hands was a half mask that covered the left side of her face. It was the faintest color of pink it could be without being white. Her pale yellow hair had been let down and reached the bottom of her back.

Arnold felt his heart suddenly beat faster and faster in his chest.

_What's wrong with me?_ He thought as he stared at Helga in awe.

"What's wrong with you football head?" Helga asked as she adjusted the straps on her dress.

"Nothing!" Arnold said quickly.

"You guys about ready?" Rick called from the next room.

"Yeah." Arnold called back.

Rick came out in his costume. He was going as _The Red Death_, his costume was sanguine in color with gold buttons and fastenings. His long black cloak had _Mort Rouge qui passé _embroidered on the back in gold letters. His half mask concealed the top of his face and looked like a skeleton. He had no guns hidden inside his coat due to the fact there was no room, he simply carried a black cane with a silver skull on the top.

"Awesome, very phantomish." Helga said smirking.

Rick scoffed.

"God help them if they have a chandelier in his manor cause that fuckers going down."

Helga and Phoebe were the only two who caught the reference and laughed. Arnold and Gerald simply shrugged.

"Come on," Rick said putting on a feathered hat. "The party starts in about half an hour."

They exited their apartment and walked down the stairs onto the street. The sun had set hours ago and the night life had come out. Rick hailed a taxi and they all got in. Ten minutes later they arrived at Eduardo Esteban's estate. It was a large white building with blue shutters and stained glass windows. The long driveway housed several limos and expensive looking cars. They got out of the cab and began walking up the grassy slope of the lawn. As they neared the house, they spotted the two large security guards checking names.

"Rick, you sure this'll work?" Gerald asked.

"Almost positive." Rick said brightly.

"You're not prepared at all are you?" Arnold asked.

"Nope." Rick said twirling his cane.

They walked up the marble steps of the front porch and were immediately stopped by the security guards who said only one word.

"Name."

Rick winked at Arnold and turned to face the guards. He took in a deep breath and began speaking in rapid German.

"Hallo. Wir sind hier für die Partei, lassen Sie uns ein, oder ich werde schlagen Sie mögen ein rothaariges Stiefkind!" (Hello. We are here for the party, let us in or I will beat you like a redheaded step-child!)

"Uh… What?"

Rick sighed in frustration and turned to face Arnold, grinning widely.

"Wo finden sie diese Kerle?" (Where do they find these guys?) He asked.

"Ich bin auf einer Müllmann-Jagd. Ich suche nach zwei kurzes-Bad-Scheiße und Hoo-Strahl, ich fand sie! ich gewinne ein heißes Datum mit Ihrer slutty Mama!" (I am on a scavenger hunt. I am looking for two dip-shits and hoo-ray, I found them! I win a hot date with your slutty mom!)

The guards turned to each other, unsure what to do.

"They're clearly here for the party." One of them whispered to the other.

The one holding the clipboard sighed and shuffled through the papers.

"There was a guy on the list by name of… Duken Von Rickin?"

"Da!" Rick said suddenly tapping the clipboard with his cane.

"Of course, right away sir." The guard with the clipboard said stepping out of the way.

"Take a note of that Arnold, if you speak to someone in a foreign language, especially German, they won't fuck with you." Rick said as soon as they were out of earshot.

"I'll file that under advice." Arnold said.

""Duken Von Rickin"?" Helga asked. "Really? That's the best you could come up with? That just screams fake."

"I swear that was the guy's real name." Rick insisted.

They made their way through the crowded dance room and walked over to the snack table.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Gerald exclaimed.

He grabbed a plate and helped himself. Rick and Arnold scanned the crowd, looking for any signs of Eduardo.

"I'll take a look upstairs." Rick said taking his cloak off and handing Arnold a small earpiece. "Here's a com-link, call me if you see anything."

"Right."

Rick disappeared into the crowd of dancers.

"Hey Gerald?" Phoebe asked. "I was wondering if you'd like to dance?"

"Uh, wah?" Gerald asked almost choking on cake.

"We're undercover right?" She asked. "You're supposed to dance at a ball. We don't want to raise attention to ourselves."

She grabbed Gerald's arm and pulled him out onto the dance floor as a waltz started. Helga glanced over at Arnold who was searching for any signs of Eduardo.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"Well what?" He asked.

She growled and pulled Arnold out onto the dance floor by his arm.

"Wait, Helga I-

"What is it football head?" She asked.

"I uh, I can't, uh…"

"Dance?! You took Lila to the prom didn't you?"

"Yeah but that was slow dancing. This is different."

Helga scoffed and put her hand on Arnold's waist.

"I'll lead, just try and keep up." She ordered.

She led Arnold through the dance, keeping it as simple as she could and snapping at him whenever he came close to stepping on her feet. She felt her heart flutter as they danced together. She recalled the conversation she'd had with Rick two nights ago.

_"Be happy you have someone you can relate to and see yourself spending the rest of your life with."_ He had said.

She caught herself staring into Arnold's eyes and felt herself drawing closer and closer to his face.

"Helga, what are-

Her face was an inch away from his when he saw a man and a woman fighting out of the corner of his eye. The man removed his mask and threw it aside before storming upstairs. It was Eduardo. Arnold pushed Helga aside and touched the button on his com-link.

"Arnold, I didn't mean-

"Rick, I found him. He's heading upstairs right now."

"Got it." Rick's voice said.

The assassin grinned in the darkness of Eduardo's study. He wouldn't to wait much longer.

Eduardo Esteban stormed through the hall of his manor. He threw open the door to his study and grabbed a bottle of bourbon. He had specifically said no more than fifty people and his wife goes and invites half of Mexico. He poured himself a glass and walked over to the window of his study, looking out onto his fresh green lawn. He felt a pang of sorrow in his heart at the thought of what he had to do to get his lawn. He sipped his drink, nervously, trying to make the bad memories go away. Suddenly, he saw a silver dagger extended from the shadows behind him and he felt the cold metal touch his skin. Eduardo gasped and dropped his drink. A hand extended out and grabbed it in mid-air.

"Don't move…" A dark voice hissed from behind him.

"Who-who are you?" Eduardo asked.

The voice in the darkness chuckled and pressed the knife into his skin, drawing a single drop of blood. A pale face like that of a demon appeared out of the darkness and grinned at Eduardo.

"I'm the monster that makes your nightmares hide under their bed." The assassin said.

"A-are you here to kill me?" Eduardo asked.

"…Yes."

"Thank god." Eduardo breathed as the knife slipped into his throat.

Arnold couldn't wait anymore.

"I'm going up there." He said defiantly.

"Shouldn't we wait for Rick?" Phoebe asked.

"He's been gone an hour. I'm going up." Arnold said. "You guy's wait here."

He navigated through the dance floor moonlight sonata began to play; he walked up the staircase to the second floor. The hallway was brightly lit by several small chandeliers on the ceiling. All of the doors were closed except for one at the end of the hall. Arnold walked towards it and peeked inside. The room was dark; the only shape he could make out was a figure sitting in a chair by the window with his back turned to him. Arnold slowly stepped into the room.

"Hello?" he called quietly.

The person in the chair didn't respond. Arnold walked over to the chair and turned it around to face him. Arnold's eyes grew wide in fear and he fell back onto the floor of the study. Eduardo's throat had been cut wide open, almost decapitating him. A silver knife had been jammed into his neck at the collar, blood stained the front of his costume and pooled around the floor. Arnold pulled himself up to his feet and stumbled to the door, unable to take his eyes off the corpse in the chair. He felt a hand grab a hold of his shoulder causing him to jump. He turned around and made a motion to ready to fight off whoever it was with his bare hands.

"Rick!" Arnold exclaimed.

"Yeah, who'd you-

Rick's jaw dropped as he saw the corpse of Eduardo.

"What the fuck happened?" He asked.

"I-I-I don't know." Arnold stammered. "I came up here to find you and I found him like this."

Rick leaned forward to get a good look at the knife. The handle and blade was made of pure silver, sharpened to a razor sharp edge. A green emerald cut into the shape of an eye was in the center of the hilt, glowing wickedly in the moonlight.

"Whoever did this knows we are here…" Rick said quietly.

"What's that?" Arnold asked pointing to an envelope on the table.

Rick picked it up and opened it. He reached inside and pulled out a small piece of paper and a flash drive. The paper was stark white and said one word written in black ink.

_**TAG**_. _**You're it.**_

"Arnold, let's get the fuck out of here." Rick suggested.

Arnold nodded as a high pitched scream rose from downstairs.

"Shit, come on!" Rick grabbed Arnold by the arm and pulled him out the room and downstairs.

Eduardo's daughter was in tears. She grabbed a plate with traces of icing on the plate's surface and on the fork. Rick and Arnold ran over to Gerald, Phoebe and Helga looking confused.

"What the hell happened here?" Rick asked.

"I-I don-

"Who ate my cake!?" Rebecca Esteban exclaimed.

The four of them turned to Gerald, pure fury burning in their eyes. Gerald quickly wiped his mouth.

"Dude…Not…Cool." Rick whispered trying not to laugh.

"My birthday's ruined!" Rebecca cried shoving a platter of finger sandwiches on the ground.

"Come on we gotta-

"MURDER!" a voice exclaimed from upstairs. "MR. ESTEBAN'S BEEN MURDERED!"

"Let's go, let's go, let's go……" Rick said under his breath.

He led them out the back as chaos broke over the dance floor. They ran through the kitchen and out the delivery door and ran to the street.

"What a fun night, we should do it more often." Rick panted.

"We didn't learn anything. The bastard's got to Eduardo before we did!" Arnold exclaimed.

He kicked a mail box and leaned against the wall of a building.

"Don't be so quick." Rick said.

He pulled his mask off and took the flash drive from his pocket.

"Whoever did it wanted us to find this. It must have something of value on it."

"What did the note mean? Tag your it." Arnold asked.

"He's getting off on it, playing with us. When we get back, pack everything you brought into a bag. We're changing hotels tonight."

He hailed a taxi and the five of them returned to their seedy hotel. They changed out of their costumes and packed their bags. Before leaving the room, Rick set the note the assassin had left on the coffee table next to his mask, and turned out the light.


End file.
